


this dam is breaking

by Hibibun



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, PeterMartin Week 2020, Pre-Slash, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27516175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hibibun/pseuds/Hibibun
Summary: Martin watches as Peter walks towards the door, key in hand to lock it behind them, and hates how his choice is made for him. He tells himself the ideas will be easy to shoot down—the man hated conversation—and it will be warm, dry and quick.It doesn’t mean anything that Peter is one of the only few people he’s spoken to at length the past several weeks. It doesn’t mean anything that he’s been the one helping deal with his mother’s affairs.It doesn’t mean anything that this almost feels like being cared for.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Peter Lukas
Kudos: 12





	this dam is breaking

**Author's Note:**

> almost late in getting this up, but happy petermartin week! this is for the prompt weather. also i wrote this before MAG 186, so for those that know, the premise of this fic got a lil wonky as a result, but i still like it enough to post.

The forecast said rain with a thirty percent chance of snow. Martin remembers reading this, remembers thinking he ought to bring an umbrella, and yet, as he’s clearing his desk to leave, it is nowhere to be found.

He likely forgot it. He’s been forgetting a lot of things lately—too much on his plate both in the institute and outside it. Between dealing with all the changes Peter keeps wanting to make, but doesn’t want to personally deal with, as well as his mother’s final requests, he’s run down and exhausted. He doesn’t want to think about the institute anymore, doesn’t want to think about his mum. Doesn’t want to think about Jon.

So now he’s staring outside the doors in the lobby, weighing his chances of how soaked he’d be by the time he made it to his train, or if it is worth it to risk a cab. Futilely, he digs through his messenger bag one last time, but of course there is no umbrella in there.

It’s probably hanging off a hook, right by his flat’s front door. Or did he leave it on the kitchen table, certain he’d grab it when turning the lights off and double checking the stove was off?

“Nice work today, Martin.” A voice startles him, and he lets out a yelp, surprised he still had enough energy in him to make such a noise. Even though it’s been a couple months now, Martin still couldn’t get used to the way Peter would sneak up on him. There were already rumors of the institute having a new ghost, and Martin had to roll his eyes at them, wishing it was something so mundane.

“Thanks, I guess,” he supplies, wishing especially now he’d taken his chances with the rain already and avoided this whole encounter. Peter merely hums, and continues looking out the front window with him. The lobby is dark, and it’s only the overhead lights just outside the door as well as the straggling amount of sunlight quickly fading as evening takes over illuminating them. Everyone else has already left, and after the way things have been for the past two years in the archives, Martin is used to leaving this late.

“Waiting for a ride?” Peter asks idly. Martin isn’t sure why he’s still here.

“No, I forgot my umbrella,” he answers, as if it explains everything. It doesn’t account for why he’s still standing here, if he was waiting for a cab, then he would have said yes, but he didn’t, so again, why _is_ he still standing here?

“I see. Then you’ll just have to let me drive you home then,” Peter explains easily enough, even though the dots don’t connect as simply as he makes them sound.

“No, thanks; really don’t need it.” His voice is flat, barbed edges only softening by extension of his own exhaustion. Treacherously, Martin does think the idea of it would be nice, simple. Better than standing here faced with indecision, which most likely will end in him drenched from the rain, regardless. Though, another part of him argues he’s never really disliked that either.

“Nonsense, I have a couple more suggestions I wanted to run by you anyway.”

Martin watches as Peter walks towards the door, key in hand to lock it behind them, and hates how his choice is made for him. He tells himself the ideas will be easy to shoot down—the man hated conversation—and it will be warm, dry and quick.

It doesn’t mean anything that Peter is one of the only few people he’s spoken to at length the past several weeks. It doesn’t mean anything that he’s been the one helping deal with his mother’s affairs.

It doesn’t mean anything that this almost feels like being cared for.

He pulls the hood of his jacket up, lingering under the overhanging roof above the door while Peter locks up. They settle into the car and Peter prompts him for an address—then nudges him again to set up directions when he can’t figure out how to input it himself into the GPS. Martin sighs, used to it, having anticipated it happening. At least when it’s settled, he’s allowed to look out the window and take in the gloomy weather.

Despite Peter insisting he had things to discuss with him, the ride is silent. Traffic is heavy, making them move at a crawl and Martin is oddly close to falling asleep. He knows Peter is still there—he has to be to be driving, but he fades into the background so easily that it’s comfortable. He doesn’t need to talk, doesn’t need to work. There are no problems to fix here and Peter does not expect him to be any kind of way. It should be worrying. It’s not.

It does startle him when the world jolts, cold fingers brushing his arm and trailing up to pull back a few loose strands of hair from his face.

Peter doesn’t say a word about it. Doesn’t elaborate on what he’s doing or why and Martin is slowly coming to wondering how long he fell asleep for. When he glances in front of them the street is familiar and empty.

It is just them in the car, just as it is only them in the same office every day now. He’s getting used to it, grasping for the snatches of time Peter shows himself now and hating that he actually comes to vaguely want it. Peter isn’t Elias, but they’re similar enough that Martin knows he’s being used. For what, he doesn’t know yet. Still, it’s preferable because in Peter’s case, so far all he’s shown is that he would prefer not to deal with anyone at all, and is merely glad Martin understands and does it for him.

Slowly, Peter takes his hand back, and almost as quickly, the sensation of it ever having been there disappears. 

“Thank you for the ride,” Martin says, with no intonation to suggest it’s genuine. He personally cannot understand why Peter offered to do so at all.

“Thank you for the company,” he offers back, the hollowness of his tone is only betrayed by a similarly empty smile denoting the joke he’s just made for himself. Both of them know nothing would have changed had Martin not been there—and that’s the point, isn’t it?

Martin looks away and reaches for his bag before opening the car door. He doesn’t bother with any platitudes of a good night, because it would be insincere and they both know it.

He doesn’t look back as he closes the door. Martin only spares a look when the car is no longer in sight, turned around a corner, and notes faintly that the rain has changed into snow.

**Author's Note:**

> lonely avatars can have little a quiet intimacy.


End file.
